Lusting Youth
by alterego123
Summary: She is the object of their desire. MWAWHG  Go on, have a Peek! RR


**Lusting Youth**

Greeting: Hello earthlings!  
A/N - This is my take on Molly's and Arthur's thoughts about Ms Hermione Granger during Bill and Fleur's wedding. It is very explicit and detailed, so if you don't like M/MA, don't read it. You have been warned.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am but a puppet dangling from the slash strings of JK's creation.

* * *

I stare at you from across the garden. Your hair lit beautifully by the summer sun as it casts it's loving glow over you. Your eyes are deep brown spheres that bury themselves into head, into my thoughts, plaguing me. You don't know what you do to me. Seven years I have watched you from afar, see you grow into the beautiful and brave witch before me. A warm smile, a band of red flowers in your hair. Your name sweet to the lips but foreign to the touch. 

Please don't distance yourself from me, don't reject me my dear.

You sense me staring and I turn away bashful and crimson. Caught again. How many times have you caught me now Hermione?  
I feel your eyes upon me as I watch my elder son drift further away from me. He looks so happy, and so does the girl. Married bliss, locked together in lovers' matrimony.

I turn to my husband, my keeper.  
Too young, I whisper softly. He smiles and takes my hand.  
We were younger than they, he says softly.

Another tear falls from my eye, but none take note. A mother's tears are second nature at a child's wedding. But these tears are different, I do not weep for them. Silently I weep for myself, for you. Lusting youth one last time. I married too quickly.

Too young, I repeat wiping the salty bitter tears from my cheek. Our eyes met again. You know how I feel don't you?  
You know how I want to kiss you, breathe you don't you?  
Your cheeks rosy and young; the summer heat tanning your smooth legs and your delicate frame.

The ceremony over and we depart to the candle lit fields. Night has descended upon us but I still capture your smile as you circle and spin, dancing in the moonlight with my youngest son, his hands upon your bare shoulder and side never daring to reach lower. You laugh, and how that laugh cuts through me. That youthful laugh, playful and carefree. Knife through butter my legs become weak.  
You fetch me a glass of white wine, your chest beating heavily from dancing. I avert my eyes. The glistering skin, so soft and delicious._ I imagine my hand upon your cheek, kissing your exposed neck and collarbone. _  
Would you want that? Would you moan for me?  
Allow me to touch you, I would treat you softly, gently, lovingly. What I'd give to brush my hands across your stomach, caress your breasts. They look so perk, so ripe. Would you let me kiss them?  
Would you let me taste your skin? I'd beg you to let me kiss them, rub them tenderly. Let me to circle my tongue around your small rose pale nipples, let me be the one who makes you shudder with bliss.

You sit opposite me, a knowing smile. A temptress in disguise. You know and you taunt me. You offer it to me freely, fingering the crystal glass slowly and skilfully. Your legs on show, a glimpse of your thigh. Shaped and succulent. I shudder at the thought of you permitting me near them. Grant me to kneel before you in your lustful youth. _I'd be gentle with you, savouring every touch, every taste and every smell.  
You'd widen your legs for me. You'd beg me to kiss you, lick your slender thighs, your throbbing clit calling out to me. I'd comply willingly._  
I can hear you now.  
Worship me you'd cry.

And I would. I would do anything you for.

I long for the taste of summer fruits, forbidden desire. _And as I taste you, circle my tongue around your swelling bud I'd cry. I'd weep and thank the heavens that you choose me._  
Oh how I want to pleasure you. Would you like that?

_You'd guide my fingers inside you, how wet you'd feel. You'd command me to caress, to search, ride you with my fist as you arch your back and cry out in ecstasy._  
Say it again, let me hear my name upon your quivering lips.  
Again. Again. Foreign to you no more.

_Then you would scream, your thighs buckling with pleasure. I'd lap it up gratefully, licking every last drop. I'd weep once more and thank you. You came for me.  
_

I turn away ashamed, afraid if you knew what I had thought. If only you could. But you will never be mine.  
I am but an old woman, a perverted hag.  
Who would want me? Not the beautiful girl I see before me.  
If only I was young again, if only I were playful and carefree.

Too young, I weep again, and return to the kitchen.  
My home.  
My prison.

-x-

* * *

I stand there watching them. They smile nervously as the priest blesses them and offers them their wedding rings. A sign of love, a signal of eternity. Both blissfully happy, both handsome and alive.  
But it's you who catches my eye. Your once bushy hair tired in a bun exposing your chest. I steal another glimpse, and then another. Your beauty should be banned from my view. I cannot trust the urges that swim through my veins so willingly.  
I curse the day I first saw you. I knew from that very moment you would be trouble; your heart so loving, your voice so pure.  
I shouldn't be looking, I curse myself. She is so young, so youthful. Long gone are the days I am allowed to stare. 

Too young, I hear my wife whisper.  
I stare back at my elder and his wife-soon-to-be. Yes they are indeed young, but they're in love, you can see it in their eyes.  
Did I have that look in my eyes I question.. I turn back to my spouse, her eyes watery and blotchy. No, I declare, I don't remember that look at all.  
We were younger than they, I whisper softly, the bitter resentment catching in my throat. I cough slightly. No one would notice, just a father succumbing to emotion on his son's wedding day they would think.

The garden looked magical and enchanting, and for a long time I watch you from afar. Watch you drink, cheer and dance. Your bronze coloured legs twirling, your hips moving to the pleasant music.. Perfection before my eyes.  
My son dances nervously with you, his feet shuffle and jerk in unkempt movements. I suppress a laugh, his hands ridged, not daring to reach lower.  
Foolish, I think to myself. I would never let such a beauty go unnoticed. I would hold her tight, kiss her cheek, her neck, her sensitive ears and collarbone. Yes, you do look the sensitive type. I bet you moan beautifully.  
How I have longed for you for so long.

You fetch my wife a drink, her cheeks already rosy and flustered. Does she not know when to stop? Would she make a fool of herself yet again?

You stop dancing now and I protest silently. Your fingers playfully circle your glass, a natural flirt before me.  
I wonder what you would do if I showed you how I flirt. It takes all my strength to remain seated, not to walk over to you, whisk you onto the dance floor. _We'd dance into the early hours on the morning, I'd whisper in your ear all the things I would want to do to you. and right there under that tree I'd take you. No doubt I'd be your first, I'd be gentle, I'd be loving for you. I'd make you scream my name as you come, your muscles contracting tightly triggering my own ecstasy._

But alas, I remain here. Never to touch a youthful beauty again. Slender thighs, tight buttocks, small frame long forgotten.  
I can only see her now. Her long lost looks, her frumpy frame.  
I'd forgotten what lust was until my eyes found you Hermione.

She goes inside still weeping. I sigh loudly. One last lustful look towards you as I step inside to her.   
My wife.  
My Dementor.

-xx-

* * *

A/N: This is just a take on what Molly and Arthur's relationship could be like, both getting older now, their children growing up all sharing delights they once shared long ago. Hermione is an image of not only lust, but of forgotten times. For example Molly sees this handsome young women in front her and a part of her longs to be her, as Molly is now middle age, her looks vanishing, her body not what it used to be. This piece in not necessarily about love. Molly wants to taste Hermione, touch her and smell her, remember how she once looked and acted. She is resentful because for so long she has been a mother (which I'm sure she doesn't mind), but she has become the housewife, the cook, the cleaner. She probably feels old, unsexy, unwanted. 

And on the other hand we have Arthur, who also looks to Hermione in a lustful way, but it's quite different. He wants to be able to hold beauty again. Sadly age has caught up with them and both he and Molly are not what they used to be.

Quite sad piece I thought, but also truthful as I'm sure some marriages go through this in life.. But what do I know, I'm nineteen :)  
Anyhow if you have spent all this time reading this, a review would be gratefully received.. please? Come on, I'm new and need YOUR wise words of wisdom!

Thank you.

Alter/Ego


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